


Proving Ground

by RPGgirl514



Series: Ink-verse [3]
Category: Mulan (1998)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Disney, Disney Angst, F/M, Forgiveness, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Relationship, Sparring, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RPGgirl514/pseuds/RPGgirl514
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war may be over, but it still rages in Mulan's heart.  A month after leaving the capitol, Shang pays Mulan and her family a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proving Ground

Captain Li Shang had been in combat training most of his life -- a practice that was designed to simulate life or death situations, and test a soldier’s skills accordingly. Since then, Shang had not only trained others in the art of war, but he had ridden into battle himself and nearly tasted death more than once. Situations such as these had the tendency to raise one’s heart rate, and this day was no different. But it was not battle he rode into today. It was Fa Mulan’s hometown.

The captain dismounted, his boots squelching in the mud, and removed his helmet, letting the rain mist his face. He tucked his plumed helm under his arm, his heart thundering in his chest like a warhorse as he approached the place Mulan called home. It was a small farmhouse with a gated courtyard, in which chickens pecked at the ground, gathering roughage. A few cows stood around a manger, sheltered by a three-walled lean-to that had seen far better days. It sagged under the weight of the rain. With a deep breath, Shang squared his shoulders and knocked on the door. A middle-aged woman answered, her face softer and rounder than the soldier’s he knew as Ping, but their features were so similar this could only be Mulan’s mother. She bowed slightly in respect of his military rank, and for the first time in his life, Shang felt distinctly uncomfortable with the way a woman deferred to him.

“Hello,” he said uncertainly.

Mulan’s mother nodded and glanced behind her as footsteps approached, but it was not Mulan who came to the door. It was Fa Zhou -- _the_ Fa Zhou. Captain Li sank into a bow, his fist over his heart.

“Sir!” he said. “It is the greatest honor to meet you, sir.”

Fa Zhou smiled a little. “At ease, Captain.” Shang rose to look him in the eye. “What is your name?”

“Captain Li Shang, sir.”

Fa Zhou regarded him curiously. Shang endured the scrutiny with some confusion. “Is there something wrong, sir?”

Fa Zhou shook his head. “I thought you would be older.”

Shang didn’t know how to respond to that. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I was nearby on a mission for the emperor, and once I completed it I wished to visit Mulan and see how she is readjusting to civilian life.”

The corners of Fa Li’s mouth tightened, and Fa Zhou nodded. “She is in the garden,” he said. “But I would like to speak with you privately first, if I may.”

Shang nodded, trepidation growing in his stomach, though he tried not to show it. “Of course, sir.”

Fa Zhou patted his wife’s shoulder, and her hand came up to squeeze his as they exchanged a look before she disappeared back into the house. Fa Zhou closed the door behind him.

“Walk with me,” Fa Zhou said. Shang nearly hesitated, glancing at the older man’s cane, but he said nothing as he fell into step beside Fa Zhou. A few moments passed before he spoke.

“I do not know what your intentions are in relation to my daughter,” Fa Zhou began, “but I believe you to be an honorable man. Mulan speaks very highly of you.”

“She does?” Shang said.

“Indeed,” Fa Zhou said.

“I assure you, I would never do anything to hurt your daughter. She saved my life. Without her, I’d be lost.” Shang looked toward the town. “I asked after her in town, but no one even knew her name. It’s a shame. All of her comrades returned home as war heroes.”

“It is the way she prefers it,” her father said.

“But no one here realizes just how much she has done for them.”

“We do,” Fa Zhou said, gesturing to himself and his home. “And you do.”

Shang shook his head. “It’s not enough.”

“It is enough for now.” Fa Zhou smiled. “I will take you to her. She will be pleased.”

* * *

 Mulan was in the garden when Fa Zhou opened the gate to admit himself and Captain Li. For a moment the two men just watched her. She loosely gripped a bamboo pole in both hands, twisting and thrusting at an invisible opponent with effortless grace. Wearing her training uniform as she had in the army, she looked just the same save for the slight swell of her breasts under her shirt. It was a juxtaposition that unsettled Shang -- but then, Mulan had always unsettled him, even when he still knew her as Ping. Her eyes flicked towards them and she faltered slightly at the sight of her former commanding officer. She stopped what she was doing and approached them slowly, her face shining with sweat.

“Father,” she said in greeting, then, “Captain.” There was something almost accusatory in her gaze as it slid over him.

“The two of you must have much catching up to do,” Fa Zhou said. “I will leave you to it, then. Oh, and Captain Li? I believe we all would be honored if you would stay for dinner.”

“Of course,” Shang said, and Fa Zhou took his leave.

“Would you care to spar, Captain? For old time’s sake?” Mulan’s voice was cool.

Shang heard a warning gong inside his head -- Mulan was testing him. To refuse would be as good as telling her that he did not see her as a worthy opponent. He gave a short nod and followed her into the garden. Shang removed the plates of his armor, leaving him in similar attire that provided little protection. He left it in a heap by the gate and took the spare bamboo staff Mulan offered him.

“To first blood, as usual. Ready, Captain?” At his nod, she said, “Begin!”

He swung at her, a little more hesitantly than he might have during training, and she easily parried with the hollow crack of staff on staff. The vibration in Shang’s hands reminded him just who he was facing, sharpening his focus. Mulan brought the butt of her staff around to jab at his torso, but he twisted at the last moment and allowed her momentum to carry her forward. He rapped the length of his staff across the backs of her knees. Mulan pitched forward, but she rolled into a ball and sprang to her feet, spinning to face him once more. Some of her hair had begun to escape her top knot, hanging around her face.

“A month out of the army and you’re already losing your touch,” Shang said.

Mulan gave no indication that she had heard him. Instead, she feinted to her right and tried to thrust her pole into his right side, but he easily countered the attack, deflecting it away and saving his kidney from a world of pain. She frowned, and Shang smiled.

“I know you, Fa Mulan,” he said. “You’re left-handed.”

His deflection had left her quite a distance away, nearly all the way across the yard that served as their training ring. Getting a running start, Mulan used her staff to vault towards him feet-first into his chest. Shang turned to take the brunt of the impact on his broad shoulder instead, his staff flying out of his hand, and her momentum carried them both to the ground. Mulan’s staff rolled away, out of her reach. She abandoned it and instead landed a blow to his head, then another. Shang placed both palms flat on the ground and reared up, shifting his pelvis. Mulan lost her balance and tumbled off his back to the ground.

In a flash Shang was upon her, straddling her hips, one hand trapping her dominant left wrist while landing blows to her midsection. He felt her stomach muscles tighten from the barrage and hesitated -- this was a woman he was assaulting. A lifetime of ingrained truth was his undoing. In that split second Mulan’s free right fist smashed into his jaw, sending a stream of bloody saliva into the dirt. Immediately he sprang to his feet, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. It came away smeared with crimson. He looked down at Mulan, still lying on her back on the ground, fists raised and ready.

“Left-handed, my ass,” she said. Shang held out his unmarred hand to help her up. She paused for a moment, as if considering whether or not to accept it, before slipping her small hand into his as he pulled her to her feet.

“Well done,” Shang said.

“For a woman,” Mulan said bitterly, retrieving the staves.

“For a soldier,” Shang said defensively, “and one whom I haven’t seen in a month.”

Mulan flushed. “Forgive me,” she said. “I forget myself.”

“Soldier,” he addressed her, and her spine straightened as if by that word alone he had called her back into the past, before the truth had come between them. “Don’t let the battle turn you bitter.”

She gazed at him with sharp dark eyes like a bird of prey. Shang felt like she could see right through him. “Thank you, Captain,” she said.

"You can call me Shang," he said, without adding _like you used to_ , “as I’m no longer your commanding officer.”

There was something in her eyes that wasn’t quite pain -- a sort of melancholy or regret, perhaps. “Not yet,” she said finally.

As Mulan turned away, Shang caught a glimpse of a smudge of black at the base of her neck. Without thinking, he reached to rub it away with his thumb. When it didn’t smear, Shang realized it wasn’t dirt from her tumble in the mud and yanked his hand back, eyes wide. Mulan went rigid.

“Is that a tattoo?” he asked, shock lacing his voice.

Mulan smirked. Shang was strongly reminded of the time she had attempted to cheat while practicing archery by spearing the fruit on the arrowhead prior to shooting. “Yes, Captain, it’s a tattoo,” she said. “I had it done in the Imperial City along with some of the other soldiers.”

Shang was at a loss for words. He reigned in his disbelief when he realized Mulan was watching his face carefully -- as if this, too, was a test.

“You might want to go get washed up,” Mulan said. “My mother cannot abide dirt in her house.”

* * *

Dinner was awkward. Conversation mostly consisted of Fa Zhou and Captain Li trading military stories and everyone complimenting Fa Li’s cooking, which was superb. Mulan had bathed and combed out her hair, the soft tips brushing her shoulders. Her _hanfu_ was sage green, accented in cream. It was still disconcerting to Shang to see her clothed like a woman, though certainly not unwelcome.

“Captain Li, you must stay the night; I insist,” said Fa Li.

“Or you could just stay forever,” piped up Grandmother Fa, earning herself a quelling look from her son. She shrugged. “What? It’s not like Mulan’s got any other prospective suitors. Might as well hang on to them.” She winked at Shang, who felt the flush creep up his neck.

“Thank you for your gracious offer, and for the meal, but I really should be getting back to the city,” he said. “The emperor will be expecting my report.”

“Nonsense,” said Fa Li. “Mulan will make up a place for you to sleep tonight.  You’ll set out in the morning. We can refresh your horse as well. I’m sure you’ve both had quite a journey and not much time to rest safely.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you, Fa Li. You are too kind.”

They finished their tea, talking leisurely until the candle had burned a finger’s-width down, and Shang stifled a yawn that was not lost on Mulan.

Mulan rose to collect their used dishes and bring them into the kitchen to be washed. Shang rose as well, his seat scraping against the worn wooden floor.

Mulan gave him a wan look, and feeling as chided as a schoolboy, he sank back into his seat. He was trying to be polite, but clearly Mulan was no stranger to discourtesy. Instead Shang watched her; the way she moved was almost hypnotic. She was still getting used to wearing a _hanfu_ again; he could tell by the inconsistent gait of her steps, so different from her sure footing in battle.

“It is getting late,” said Fa Zhou. This seemed to be a cue. Fa Li came around to Fa Zhou’s side, hovering just behind his elbow until he had stood with the aid of his cane and, with a stately grace, they retreated into the bedroom they shared. Grandmother Fa grinned at Shang and thrust her thumb back towards the kitchen. By the clatter of stoneware and the splash of water, Mulan was still taking care of their dishes. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She cackled all the way to her bedroom.

Shang, his face burning, moved into the kitchen. Mulan’s back was to him, and she had pulled her hair back out of her face with a length of cloth to keep it out of the dishwater. Shang’s eyes were drawn to the smudge on the back of her neck. The neck of her _hanfu_ dipped just a bit lower than her training uniform’s, and with her hair out of the way he could just make out the character _jiāng_ \-- river -- as she moved. He wondered if that was the only character she had scribed indelibly on her back.

“May I help?” Shang asked from the doorway, leaning up against it.

Mulan was quiet for a moment. “Do you remember the first day we met?”

“Of course,” Shang said, startled by the turn of conversation, though he chuckled to recall the memory. “I made you all pick up every single grain of rice in the camp because of your foolishness.”

“I understood then, and I understand now, why you did what you did. You were my commanding officer. I disrespected you in front of all of your men. I deserved what was given to me, and the others needed to learn early and hard that disrespect would not be tolerated.”

Shang nodded to himself. Mulan had always been perceptive. He’d known that since the day she’d strolled into camp with that ridiculous swagger and turned his camp and his life upside down. However, he wasn’t sure where she was going with this. “Yes."

Mulan whirled on him, a soapy tea cup in hand. “Captain, I was indirectly responsible for the loss of a pot of rice, and you dealt with that disrespect accordingly. Imagine, now, if I had left you to die in the snow, seriously wounded?”

Shang narrowed his eyebrows. “You knew the law. The punishment for impersonating a soldier is death.”

“Impersonating a soldier? I _was_ a soldier,” she said. “Was it a woman who saved your life, or a soldier?”

“I spared your life. A life for a life.”

“You condemned it,” she hissed. “But I understood, just as I did when you made us pick up every single grain of rice in the camp.”

“Then why are you angry with me?” Shang said. He already knew -- hadn’t she said as much in that filthy pub a month ago?

“Because even when you disciplined Ping, you held a level of respect for me designated by my rank. But when you disciplined Mulan, you did not even afford me that. How can I forgive you when you do not think I’m worthy of respect? Why should I?”

His retort shriveled on his tongue. He understood now -- this conversation was about a lot more than forgiveness. He’d made her a warrior. The only way warriors are trained to handle problems is to fight. Could he fault her for that?

Mulan sighed wearily, deflated by his silence. “Why did you come here, Captain?”

“I didn’t have to,” Shang said. “I came back to earn your trust.”

“Then prove it.”

“How?”

Mulan shrugged. “Ping proved to you that he was worthy of continuing training by retrieving the arrow when no one else could. Mulan had to prove she was worthy again by saving you from Shan Yu in the Imperial City. I have already proven myself to you. Now it’s your turn.”

Shang had never felt so small, not since his father had disciplined him as a child, but he was angry too. No one could get under his skin quite so thoroughly as Mulan. But if they were to get anywhere close to where Shang wanted this to go, both of them would need to relearn how to fight -- not as warriors, but as lovers.

Shang took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was difficult to consider what he truly wanted to say with Mulan glaring at him with fire in her eyes. “Believe me when I say I have not gone a day without thinking of what you said to me, in the capitol. Forgiveness is a journey. One I’d like to make with you -- if you’ll let me.”

Mulan studied him before turning back to her task. The water had lost most all of its bubbles, and her fingertips were wrinkled. “Thank you, Captain. I’m nearly finished here. I can make up a place for you to sleep in a few minutes.”

* * *

 

Mulan showed him to a room that he assumed to be a guest room of sorts. The furnishings were sparse and worn, yet comfortable and clean, and far preferable to sleeping out in the open on the cold, hard ground.

“Good night, Captain,” Mulan said, holding her hand in front of the fat, flickering candle she held as she padded away.

Shang pulled the blanket up over himself and settled in, staring at the ceiling of the darkened room. Something nagged at his mind, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. His mind wandered to other things, lingering on the conversation he’d had with Mulan that night and the sparring session they’d engaged in that afternoon. Then it hit him.

 _Shoes._ Mulan had been wearing shoes when she left.

Shang’s eyes widened and he threw back the blanket, slipping on his own shoes by the door and pulling his scarlet cloak around him. Autumn in this region was warm during the day, but the nights could chill one to the bone. Although, Shang amended, maybe not one who had managed not to freeze to death in the Tung Shao Pass.

He glanced around the courtyard and headed towards the barn. He eased the door open. Even in the small bar of moonlight that he admitted, he saw Mulan curled up in a pile of hay across from the door. He could hear animals stirring in their pens. Khan opened one eye, whuffed disapprovingly when he saw Shang, and opened both eyes to see what was going on.

Shang stopped. Just what was he going to do? Spit on the Fa family’s hospitality by demanding that Mulan sleep in her own bed and allow him to bed down with the animals? He watched her shift in her sleep to lie on her stomach, the loose fitting tunic she wore falling to reveal the second character in the chain down her back. _Jiānghe_. What a strange word to have as a tattoo! Shang started to lean forward, his curiosity driving him to make out the rest of it before he caught himself.

This tenuous trust they had just begun to build together, precarious and new, was harangued on all sides by both their demons.  Shang might have passed the first few tests Mulan had set for him, here in her proving ground, but whatever victories he had won could be just as easily undone.  It was not worth the small chance of her waking up to find him violating the boundaries she had set in place for something so trivial. Instead, Shang unhooked his cloak from around his shoulders, the fabric sliding through his hands like water. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, and it had kept Shang himself warm through countless cold nights. He laid it over her sleeping form. She was so slight that the yards of red material dwarfed her. Shang wondered how he had ever mistaken her for a man. He watched her for a moment, then nodded to Khan and turned on his heel to leave the barn.

Hours later, Mulan woke to the familiar scent of hay and horses, and something else that she couldn’t quite place. She sat up and felt the covers fall away, disoriented. She looked down at the crimson cloth in her lap. _Shang._ Mulan smiled.

**Author's Note:**

>  _hanfu_ \- female clothing common during the Han Dynasty  
>  _Jiānghe_ \- raging river


End file.
